


Saints who from their labours rest

by Sororising



Series: SamSteve week 2016 [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: (Someone is groped briefly without their consent), AU in that Steve and Sharon never kissed, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Fake Relationship, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Post CA:CW, Small Parks and Rec spoiler, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 23:06:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7733326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sororising/pseuds/Sororising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t actually want to talk about Bucky right now, though,” Steve says, which has to be a first. “Nat drove me all the way to DC because she could tell that I needed to be with you.”</p><p>And, well. What the hell is Sam supposed to say to that?</p><p>“I’m glad you came back.” It’s true, but somehow it feels like an understatement.</p><p>“I want to say I’ll always come back,” Steve says slowly, and Sam doesn’t know where that sentence is going, but it doesn’t sound like anywhere good.</p><p>“No, that isn’t quite right,” Steve continues. “I mean, I will, obviously. I’ll always come back to you. But - I don’t really want to leave again, is what I meant.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It is SamSteve week 2016 and I only found out on day 2! I completely missed SamBucky week which is a tragedy so I am determined to actually take part in this one, even if I end up posting every prompt two days late like this one (I'm backdating it to Monday but today is actually Wednesday). 
> 
> So, here is the prompt for day 1: fake relationship! I went in a slightly different direction with it but hopefully it still fits.
> 
> Written about as fast as I can write and unbetaed so if (when) you spot mistakes feel free to comment with them! Also I will always update tags if people request ones, no problem at all.
> 
> Title is from the hymn 'For All the Saints;' all my titles in this series come from it.

Sam is so, so tempted to ignore his phone. He’s got the episode of Parks and Rec queued up where everyone holds a goodbye celebration for Li’l Sebastian, a bowl of really excellent mac and cheese, and he’s borrowed Steve’s comfiest hoodie.

But it’s Steve’s ringtone - the ever-hilarious Star-Spangled Man With A Plan, which Sam refuses to change even though Steve technically isn’t Cap anymore - and Steve is on a mission that Sam knows very little about right now, so he picks it up and answers pretty much immediately.

Steve and Natasha have been working to rebuild some kind of organisation out of the very scattered remnants of SHIELD - well, HYDRA - for the past few months. They’ve teamed up with some kind of weird secret-SHIELD - Steve had cried for an hour after meeting their leader; Sam still can’t quite get his head around why - and are working hard on ridding the world of every last trace of HYDRA.

Steve probably thinks he’s keeping his little side missions - where he tries to hunt down anything that might help Bucky’s recovery - a secret, but Sam is about ninety-eight percent sure that everyone even vaguely affiliated with Steve’s team is just pretending not to know about them.

They’d offered Sam a job with the team straightaway, but he’d only hesitated for a second before turning it down. He’s more than happy for the upgraded wings he got out of Tony and Steve’s - probably tearful and overdramatic - reunion, and if Falcon’s needed then he’s more than willing to step up and be an honorary superhero for a bit.

But as a day job? He can’t handle that level of stress in his life right now. It wouldn’t end up anywhere good for him, he’s certain. Plus, when Steve’s in DC they basically live together. Add a work environment to that and, well, as much as he loves the guy, the sentiment _too much of a good thing_ might start coming into play.

So he’s back where he belongs, at the VA in DC, doing a much less exciting but somehow more rewarding job than Steve’s.

It’s fairly unusual for Steve to call in the middle of a mission, so Sam doesn’t say anything but a quick ‘Hi, babe’ when he picks up. If it’s bad news, he wants it out of the way fast.

“Sam. Um, hi!”

Oh, come on. That is definitely Steve’s _I’m trying really hard to sound casual right now_ voice, which never means anything good. 

Sam sighs, hoping that it was quiet enough to not carry over the line. “What’s wrong?”

“What - nothing’s wrong,” Steve says, in a tone that clearly implies the exact opposite. “It’s good, actually. Me and Nat finally have a chance to take down Frank Stewart.”

That is good news, actually. They’ve been tracking that bastard for a while. Still, that doesn’t stop Sam from feeling like there’s something more going on. Maybe he’s just being paranoid; it would hardly be his fault if the last few years have made him just a bit suspicious of everyone’s ulterior motives. Steve really might just have been calling to let him know about Stewart.

“Excellent. Well, stay safe. Don’t do anything I’ll have to kick your ass for later.” 

Sam mentally crosses his fingers. Parks and Rec is waiting for him, and his dinner is going to get cold. Not quite the thrilling life of a superhero on an undercover mission, but Sam’s had enough of that for a lifetime.

Well, probably. At least enough for the next month or so.

“Ah, there’s one tiny thing,” Steve says, and, right, here it comes.

“I’m listening.” Sam had been going for a patient tone, but he’d missed it by a mile. 

“The mission is at this fancy dinner party in Manhattan. It’s mostly for finance managers, or something. We’re using those creepy face replacers Nat has.”

Sam winces. He hates those fucking things. He’s about as far from a technophobe as you can get without turning into Tony Stark; hell, he relies on some of the most advanced technology to catch him every time he flings himself off a skyscraper or out of a plane.

But there’s something about those masks - mask is a much less weird term than _creepy face replacer,_ Jesus, Steve - that makes him feel ill. 

“Rather you than me,” he says honestly. “You didn’t need to tell me that, though? It makes sense. Cap - well, ex-Cap, whatever - showing up in a room full of hedge fund dudes would set off a few alarms, I bet. And Nat still hasn’t been cleared of all charges, right?”

“Not yet,” Steve says, and Sam wonders if he realises that he’s talking in the hero voice he uses for reporters when he says that. “Rhodes is working on that.”

Sam is going to ignore the teasing edge that creeps into Steve’s voice when he mentions Colonel Rhodes.

It was a very tiny crush, okay. Sam would like to see an Air Force member _without_ a small thing for Rhodes. His unit leader, Amy, who had been about as gay as Ellen, had actually blushed when the Colonel had visited the Falcon training grounds and told her she was doing a great job. Anyway, Steve doesn’t have a leg to stand on here, from the stories Sam’s heard about Peggy Carter he’s absolutely certain Steve isn’t immune to the charms of firm-but-fair military authority figures.

Sam hadn’t felt like he could breathe properly for hours after he’d watched Rhodes fall from the sky.

He’s not going to think about that, not now.

“That’s not what I wanted to tell you, anyway,” Steve says hesitantly, which gives him something else to focus on. “Um, the tickets Nat, well, acquired.” Sam uses the pause to mentally replace the word _acquired_ with a more accurate one. Stole. Forged. Counterfeited. “They’re for a couple. We have to pretend to be engaged.”

That hadn’t even remotely been worth the level of worry he had heard in Steve’s voice. Sam laughs. “Okay, were you seriously this worked up just about telling me that?”

“No?”

Well, that was about as unconvincing as Steve’s agreement when Bucky had decided he wanted to go back into cryofreeze.

“Babe, it’s for a mission. If you and Nat are having a secret love affair behind my back, we can talk about it later. I really don’t mind you pretending to date her, or whatever.”

“Don’t call me babe right now,” Steve says in a voice that’s just on the edge of pleading. Interesting. “I’m already in my suit, and these trousers are way too tight.”

Well, that’s not a bad mental image. Maybe this phonecall was worth postponing dinner for after all.

“Just think of that motel room outside of Philly,” Sam suggests. The smell in that place had been enough to kill off any tiny hint of arousal they might have had left after a week’s fruitless searching around the suburbs. “Let me guess, Romanov picked the suit?”

“She already _had_ one for me,” Steve says, sounding adorably confused. “But it’s definitely too small.”

Sam highly doubts that. “You’ll be fine. When we met you were wearing that obscene little running shirt, don’t tell me you can’t cope with a suit that actually fits.”

“Hey, that shirt is my lucky charm, don’t insult it.”

“You are such a sap, Rogers,” Sam says, knowing full well that he has his own very sappy smile on his face right now. “Go on, catch your bad guy of the week. I give you full permission to dance with Nat, or kiss her if you have to for some reason.” He pauses, thinking about his interactions with Natasha so far, then adds: “She’ll probably invent a reason you suddenly have to make out. Only go along with her if you’re comfortable with it, yeah?”

“Yes, sir,” Steve says, and there’s a few moments of silence where they both need to take a pause to process that response.

“Fuck,” Sam says, very ineloquently. “Okay, we can talk about that when you’re back. Stay safe, alright? Love you.”

“Will do. Love you too,” Steve says, and hangs up.

Well, that had turned out to be more than interesting. Sam is very much looking forward to Steve getting back to DC, though it probably won’t be until tomorrow.

Maybe he’ll still be wearing the suit. It would be all rumpled by then; he might have had to chase down his target in it, or even fight off a few bodyguards.

Oh, for Christ’s sake. Sam is not going to watch the saddest episode of his favourite TV show with an erection. He has limits, and Steve fucking Rogers has made him reconsider more than a few of them, but that’s a hard line.


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

Steve hangs up and turns to Natasha, praying that she hadn’t heard the last few minutes of his and Sam’s conversation.

The wicked little smile on her face lets him know instantly that he’s not in luck.

“ _Sir?_ ”

It’s all she needs to say for him to turn bright red.

“Let’s go,” he says, instead of rising to the bait. “It’s twenty past already, and guests are supposed to be seated by half past.”

Nat rolls her eyes, and flicks the almost invisible switch that rolls the mask technology she’d appropriated - okay, stolen - from SHIELD over her face.

Steve can’t stop himself from flinching slightly as her features settle themselves into an arrangement just different enough to make her unrecognisable. She had put her black wig on a few minutes ago, but Steve’s seen her with more than a few different hairstyles, and he’s always known her.

Now, though, he wouldn’t be able to pick her out of a crowd. The thought is more than a little terrifying.

Before they step out of the car, Nat reaches over to activate Steve’s own mask. He feels the tingle of tiny electrical pulses as they flash across his skin for a few seconds. Once they stop, he doesn’t bother to look in the mirror.

No-one would know him, not as Steve Rogers or Captain America, and that’s what matters.

“I take it that your boyfriend is alright with us making love on the dancefloor?” Nat’s murmur in his ears probably just looks like an intimate moment between lovers, so Steve forces himself not to glare at her.

“We can _dance_ together,” he says pointedly, in an equally quiet whisper. He decides not to mention the possibility of kissing. 

Nat takes his arm in a perfect formal stance as they approach the doorman. Not many people would know that her index finger is placed carefully over one of the pressure points in Steve’s inner arm. Or, if they did, they would assume it was accidental.

Idiots.

He wonders if she’s placed her hand there so that she can let him know if - or when, more likely - he’s doing something wrong, or if maybe the movement is so automatic for her that she didn’t even think consciously about it.

“Michael Farnham,” Steve says when it’s their turn. “And my wife, Beatrice,” he adds, as though it had been an unimportant afterthought.

They had agreed that Steve would take the lead with the socialising, something that he didn’t feel entirely comfortable with. But Nat had pointed out that about half the clientele at this place would be put off if a woman was the one taking charge in a conversation, so Steve had reluctantly agreed.

He guesses it might be useful to have them underestimate Nat even more than they would have anyway, but he’d still prefer to be her backup rather than have it the other way round.

Steve would really love a simple retrieval mission right now. Break in, punch out a few thugs, grab whatever he came for and break back out. Possibly exploding the building on the way, if it was empty.

At least no acting would be required for that. And he wouldn’t have to wear an uncomfortable suit that feels like it keeps shrinking every time he moves his shoulders.

They’re ushered in with no further questions, and Steve wonders who exactly this Farnham guy is. He isn’t even sure he’s a real person; it’s entirely possible that Nat had created two fake identities just to get them in tonight.

He really shouldn’t be the one taking point on this if he can’t even properly remember whether his cover _exists, _fuck.__

__Nat skilfully leads him to their table while making it look she’s the one following Steve. God, she’s good._ _

__He sits down, relieved to not have to focus on walking anymore. Trying to look unthreatening with two handguns holstered to your lower back under a definitely too-tight suit jacket isn’t easy._ _

__Of course, Nat is managing to look some unsettling combination of demure but sexy, and she probably has at least eight knives tucked away. It’s worrying that she manages to stay fully armed - she can more than handle herself without the weapons, but it never hurts to be well-prepared - while wearing a very revealing green silk dress._ _

__Steve looks up from his place setting, directly into the face of their target._ _

__For someone who regularly makes the cover of the Financial Times, Mr Stewart has proven to be a very hard man to get hold of in person. Even Nat hasn’t been able to find all his safehouses; one of his larger side businesses focuses on real estate, so technically he could have several thousand buildings to retreat into if he felt threatened._ _

__He’s one of those guys that everyone seems to assume has a few dodgy operations going on, but who’s quiet enough about them to get away with it. Either that, or he bribes and threatens anyone who tries to question his business practices._ _

__Bankrolling half of HYDRA’s American and Canadian operations, though, that’s going to get him sent down for life._ _

__If Nat can get hold of his phone, which she says will be the final nail in his coffin. Her tone had been a shade too literal when she’d said that, but English is something like her fifth language, so Steve is going to give her the benefit of the doubt._ _

__They’ve been lucky with this mission so far; Stewart is only attending the dinner because he’s being presented with some stuffy-sounding award. Steve just hopes their luck holds._ _

__Dinner conversation is as stilted as Steve had been expecting. He manages to come across as uninterested in anything but his food and his wife - which doesn’t particularly strain his acting abilities; Stewart and the guy next to him manage to hold a conversation about the benefits of different types of insurance for an excruciating twenty-five minutes._ _

__He’d known that Nat might have to try a few of her seduction tactics for this mission - on someone other than him, that is - which honestly makes him a lot more uncomfortable than she seems to be with the idea. Of course, when she’d informed him that she was planning to play the part of a society wife with a boring, unattractive husband, and that she would put out a few feelers to see who might be likely to give them any intel, Steve had sort of assumed that she was going to try flirting with Stewart himself._ _

__Instead, out of the corner of his eye, he can see her giving quick little looks from under her fake-but-realistic - just like everything else about her appearance tonight - eyelashes, not at Stewart, but at his wife._ _

__Well, Steve isn’t going to question her strategy, even when he doesn’t have a clue what it is. They’re a team, and part of that means having each other’s backs no matter what. He wishes Nat could just tell him what she’s up to, though. Having her keep potentially useful intel from him doesn’t bring up any good memories._ _

__Soon enough, Nat quietly excuses herself, saying she needs to go powder her nose. Steve manages to snap back into character in time to to give her permission to leave the table. Three minutes later, Stewart’s wife stands up and leaves as well._ _

__And then it’s just him and Stewart, plus one couple at the end of their table who have been engaged in a quiet but forceful argument throughout the entire meal. Everyone else has made their way to the dancefloor, and Steve suspects Nat had some kind of plan for him to get Stewart to leave the room, but that only works if she actually _tells_ him about it._ _

__“I have a business arrangement you might be interested in, ah, Frank,” Steve says, knowing that it’s a weak ploy but also knowing that it doesn’t sound particularly suspicious. “Perhaps we could step out into a side room and discuss it?”_ _

__Hopefully that makes it sound as though the business is something that should be kept under the table._ _

__Stewart looks at Steve properly for the first time all night._ _

__“I might be interested,” he says, and, shit, Steve hadn’t actually been expecting that to work._ _

__“Shall we?” Stewart continues, getting up from his seat and signalling one of the burly-looking men in all-black suits who are trying to look inconspicuous at the fringes of the room._ _

__“I’m going to have a little discussion with Mr Farnham here,” Stewart says. “I expect it to take, hmm.” He glances at Steve. “About half an hour. Do I have your assurance that we won’t be disturbed?”_ _

__“Of course, sir,” the bodyguard says immediately. “Might I suggest the Cavallaro suite?”_ _

__“That will do,” Stewart replies, motioning for Steve to follow him._ _

__Wow. This is looking up and up. He had assumed that Stewart would bring along at least one security officer, and it wasn’t like Steve would have broken a sweat taking the guy down, but he hadn’t particularly been looking forward to fighting in his new dinner suit._ _

__Clearly he’s a better actor than he’d thought. Stewart had bought that line about a business arrangement without any further convincing._ _

__They reach the Cavallaro suite after a few minutes of silent walking, which Steve uses to glance around for any sign of Nat. He hopes that she’s lurking around somewhere nearby. He’s happy to take Stewart’s phone off him, but he doesn’t quite understand what she needs it for - surely someone who’s survived in HYDRA for as long as Stewart has wouldn’t keep incriminating evidence on his personal cellphone?_ _

__The door shuts behind them, and Steve has about ten seconds to look round and appreciate the abstract art decorating the walls before he’s being pushed against the doorframe and - what the _hell_ \- and there’s a hand groping at his crotch._ _

__He pushes back in shock, and Stewart doesn’t fall over, but he moves a good few steps further back than he would have if Steve had been an average human._ _

__He doesn’t actually care about potentially blowing his cover, though, because again, _what the hell?__ _

__Stewart frowns at him. “What on earth is wrong with you?”_ _

__Steve has absolutely no reply to that, because it was more or less exactly what he’d been about to say._ _

__“I - we were supposed to discuss a business matter,” he says helplessly, wondering if he should just knock Stewart out and search his pockets instead of trying to keep him engaged in conversation._ _

__Nat, where the fuck are you?_ _

__“Business? Please. You know exactly what our wives are doing right now.”_ _

__Steve tries to ignore that mental image, especially since he knows it isn’t actually true, and decides to fully think the situation through for the first time._ _

__Stewart had been expecting them to - to - no, Steve isn’t going to think about it for one second longer than he has to._ _

__Before he can formulate an appropriate response - or really any kind of response; he’s still a little in shock - Natasha bursts through the door._ _

__“I may have been misinformed,” she says. “Penelope - the wife - was the ringleader. This idiot here was just a dupe with deep pockets.”_ _

__Stewart splutters, but both Steve and Nat ignore his presence completely._ _

__“I started to suspect during dinner,” Nat continues. “She has the air, you know, of someone with a lot of secrets. But I had to get her alone to confirm. I’ve got everything we need, and she’s incapacitated. For now.”_ _

__Steve has no idea what’s going on._ _

__“So - we can get out of here?” It’s probably not the most important question he should be asking, but it’s the only one he needs answering right now._ _

__“Sure. Sorry I was late. She was harder to - ah, take down than I was expecting.” She narrows her eyes. “He didn’t try anything, did he?”_ _

__Steve doesn’t meet her eyes. “Groped me for half a second, that’s it.” She could have fucking _told_ him what was going on. She knows better than anyone how much he hates being kept in the dark on missions; he’d thought those days were over after the collapse of SHIELD._ _

__She looks very mildly apologetic, which probably means that she does actually feel bad. “I’d heard rumours they were swingers, but I hadn’t been able to get a confirmation. It was the best way I could think of to get her alone, and I only knew it was _her_ I was trying to get about twenty minutes ago.”_ _

__“What - what the ruddy hell is going on?”_ _

__Ah. Stewart. Steve had mostly forgotten his existence already._ _

__“Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” Nat says in a toneless voice. “Except that your wife is about to go to jail for life, and all your joint assets will be seized. Nothing major.”_ _

__She takes Steve’s hand and leads him out of the room before Stewart has a chance to reply with anything but a sort of choking noise. Steve might have felt slightly bad about destroying the guy’s life in other circumstances, but he couldn’t care less right now._ _

__“You okay, Cap?”_ _

__“Stop calling me that,” Steve says for the hundredth time. “And, yeah, I’m fine. Just - just send me a text or something next time, alright? I hate not knowing what my play’s supposed to be.”_ _

__“I’ll try,” she says, and it’s not quite as good as an _I will_ , but it’s more realistic, which maybe makes it better._ _

__They deactivate their masks as soon as it’s safe, and Steve realises that he still has no clue what Michael Farnham even looks like. Not that it’s important now._ _

__He remembers something as they’re getting back into the car. “Why did you even need his - her, I mean - phone?”_ _

__Nat takes one hand off the wheel and reaches into her bra, which he knows has a series of complicated invisible pockets, and hands him a very small, folded paper._ _

__“Second-to-last copy,” she says. “Penelope didn’t have a clue what it was, obviously. Pierce told her to keep it safe, and always to have it on her. And HYDRA don’t like leaving electronic records. Short of a tattoo, the only thing everyone carries with them everywhere these days in a cellphone.” She shrugs, sounding as though her conclusions had been obvious ones that everyone would have come to if they’d just given the matter some thought. “There was a space filed down on the inside on the battery case. It was in there.”_ _

__Steve carefully unfolds the paper. He only has to read the first few letters - _Zhela_ \- before he drops it onto his lap to stop himself from crumpling it up, or tearing it into tiny unrecognisable pieces._ _

__He has about a thousand questions. Why had HYDRA wanted one of their heads of finance to have Bucky’s trigger words? Why had they never told her what they were? How the hell had Natasha found out all this?_ _

__He only asks one._ _

__“Second-to-last?”_ _

__Nat nods, keeping her gaze fixed on the road in front of her. “Last one is the book,” she says, and - _oh.__ _

__“We can wake him up,” Steve says, unable to believe the words coming out of his mouth. “Or - he said when he’s not going to be a danger to anyone.”_ _

__“One step closer, anyway,” Nat says. “You can finally have someone to take half the burden of the old-people jokes.”_ _

__“Nat - thank you,” Steve says, blinking back tears. “I don’t even care that you didn’t tell me. Thank you.”_ _

__“Didn’t want you to get your hopes up,” she tells him, which, okay, is completely fair. He knows he isn’t very good at being rational when it comes to Bucky. She doesn’t respond to his thanks, which isn’t unusual. For someone who knows exactly how good she is at what she does, Nat is very uncomfortable with simple, sincere gratitude._ _

__Steve looks out of the window and suddenly realises that they’re driving along a familiar road._ _

__“We aren’t going back to our hotel?”_ _

__“Nope,” Nat says, sounding pleased with herself. “Figured you might want to see your better half after tonight.”_ _

__Steve folds the paper and tucks it inside a zipped pocket in the inner lining of his suit._ _

__“Thanks, Nat,” he says again, and settles down to watch the road go by, all the way to DC._ _


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

Sam may or may not have fallen asleep on the sofa, with a half-pint of melted ice cream still on the coffee table.

He startles awake when he hears the car pull into his drive, though. It’s - what - one in the morning, and Steve isn’t due back until tomorrow.

When he hears the key turn in the lock, though, the tension drains out of him. There aren’t many people who can open that door, not after Stark had insisted on upgrading Sam’s home security.

Okay, so Sam called it upgrading. Stark called it _creating it in the first place, Wilson, a deadbolt and an alarm I could have hacked when I was five don’t count as security._

“Hey, Steve,” Sam says, a second before he actually rounds the corner to the hall.

Steve is putting the chain back on the door, which Sam never bothers with, so he has his back turned.

And, well, that really isn’t a bad view. Maybe Sam should persuade Natasha to take Steve shopping one day.

Steve turns, and wraps his arms around Sam without a second’s pause.

“Missed you,” he says, or at least Sam’s pretty sure those were the words. They were very muffled, because Steve has his face buried in the fabric of Sam’s hoodie.

“S’my hoodie,” Steve says, and that’s technically accurate, so Sam decides to pretend he didn’t hear it.

“I missed you too, babe. But I saw you the day before yesterday?”

Steve’s been on week-long missions before and come back less clingy than this. Sam isn’t complaining, exactly, but he is starting to get slightly worried.

“Let’s move over to the sofa, okay,” he says when Steve doesn’t reply. “Also, I just put my hand under your jacket, and that line about you being happy to see me is seeming horribly accurate right now.”

That gets Steve to draw back instantly.

“Sorry! I forgot.”

Steve slips the jacket off, and untucks his shirt so that he can take off his holster.

“Go put them in the safe,” Sam says, because he is not having guns lying around the house.

He notices that Steve looks ever-so-slightly more relaxed now that Sam’s given him a direct task, which is something he’s going to have to think about later.

He calls after Steve: “And change into something comfy!” The suit is hot, alright, but Sam wants to cuddle on the couch and hopefully track down some non-melted ice cream. Fancy formal-wear isn’t really conducive to that.

It’s only been a few minutes before Steve returns, dressed in pyjamas that are just a bit too big for him, unlike the entire rest of his wardrobe. He looks unfairly cute, especially with his hair all messed up from where he’d probably pulled his dress shirt over his head instead of undoing all the buttons.

But he also looks tired, and nervous, and something else that Sam can’t really place.

“C’mon, sit down,” Sam says, patting the space next to him.

Steve obeys instantly, and leans into Sam without being prompted.

“Sorry if I woke you up,” Steve says after they’ve been lying there a while.

“I fell asleep here,” Sam admits. “You did me a favour. I’m too old to be sleeping anywhere but my own bed, these days.”

Steve laughs quietly. “If you’re too old, what does that make me?”

“Don’t remind me of the age difference thing, it’s too weird.”

“You mean the fact that I’m either a decade younger than you or fifty years older?”

“Jesus. Yes, that, you asshole,” Sam says, happy that Steve is feeling up to joking around a bit.

He still can’t understand what all those books and movies that had portrayed Steve Rogers as a goody two-shoes had been thinking. Sure, the guy has a moral compass that would swing straight in hell, but he’s also sarcastic as hell, loves playing pranks on people, and is definitely not above using his deadly puppy-dog-eyes expression to get people to go along with whatever harebrained plan he’s come up with.

“The mission was - a weird one,” Steve suddenly volunteers, but then goes silent.

Okay. Well, at least Sam isn’t going to have to be the one to bring it up first.

“Weird how?”

“I think I was supposed to be seducing our target?” What the actual fuck. “Or, he wasn’t even our target in the end,” Steve continues. “I don’t know. I’m very confused.”

“You - did Natasha tell you about that side of it?”

Sam is going to have more than a few words with her. He doesn’t care that she’s the Black Widow, that’s she’s supposedly toppled regimes and danced on the burning ashes. That isn’t relevant when she’s pulled a stunt like this one.

“She had to change the plan halfway through, it wasn’t her fault,” Steve says, which Sam translates as _no, she didn’t tell me a fucking thing._

“You didn’t go through with the seduction plan once you realised what she was up to, right?”

Steve twists his neck into a very awkward-looking position so that he can look at Sam.

“I didn’t even know what it was until he grabbed me. I didn’t cheat on you, Sam, I swear.”

Oh, come on. That - that was not what Sam had been asking, not even close. Trust Steve to play the martyr.

“I was trying to check up on you, I wasn’t asking if you were still faithful, you - wait.” Sam replays Steve’s words quickly. “Hang on, you said he grabbed you? Where?”

“Up against a door,” Steve says, and Sam _knows_ that he’s deliberately misunderstanding the question.

Sam doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t want to push, but he doesn’t want to just let this go either, not if something actually happened to Steve. 

Steve sighs, and rests his head back on Sam’s shoulder. 

“Okay, he grabbed my - my crotch, for like a second. I’m completely fine. I was just shocked, that’s all.”

“Did Natasha kill him?” Sam’s voice is calm, as though this is just another everyday conversation.

“What? No! She didn’t even kill the actual criminal, why would she kill the innocent guy?”

Innocent. Hah.

“Because he touched you without your consent,” Sam points out, being careful to say it gently.

Steve makes a protesting kind of noise.

“He didn’t, though. Or he didn’t mean to. I sort of accidentally came on to him? He thought I was a, um, swing?”

“Swinger,” Sam says, and if this was any other situation he’d be laughing at that. 

He’s definitely not laughing right now.

“That isn’t even the important part,” Steve says, and Sam decides to go along with the subject change. For now. “Nat found the last copy of Bucky’s trigger words, other than the book with the star. It’s - it’s not everything we need to make him feel safe, but we’re getting close.”

Sam isn’t even sure if Steve realises that he’s saying _we_ rather than _I._ Of course, he could mean himself and Natasha, but Sam’s pretty sure he’s included in whatever messed-up ideas Steve has about their little foursome.

“That’s great,” Sam says, wondering if it actually is.

Sam honestly doesn’t know how he feels about Barnes. He doesn’t blame him for what he did as the Winter Soldier; he’s met more than a few prisoners of war, and he’s pretty certain that Barnes counts as the longest-held captive in US military history.

He also knows - more than Steve does, most likely - about the kind of tactics that are used to break those prisoners, and he’s fully aware that Barnes didn’t stand a chance of keeping a hold on any kind of selfhood if he’d been subject to years - decades, jesus - of that treatment.

Add in the whole chair thing, which has given even Sam a nightmare or two, and, yeah, there’s no way he’d ever hold Barnes responsible for the people he’s killed or tortured.

That isn’t actually the problem.

The problem - well, plain and simple, the problem is that Sam and Steve had originally bonded over both being vets, and both having lost their best friend to war.

And Steve’s best friend had turned out to be alive. Massively traumatised and possibly brain-damaged, but he’s alive.

Riley isn’t. He never will be, because Sam’s just a regular guy, and miracles like that don’t happen every day. When they do, it’s people like Steve, whose whole existence is a kind of miracle, who get the dramatic moments.

Sam knows Steve’s life has been very, very far from a charmed one. His childhood stories range from tragic to horrifying to ‘almost sweet if you ignore the mention of another near-death experience,’ especially when Sam can’t help but view them from a modern perspective. And then the war, and losing Bucky, and choosing to let himself die to save the city he loved, and waking up in a new century with almost everyone he knew six feet under - okay, so Steve’s life has been its own special kind of hell, and god knows he deserves some kind of a break from it all.

He doesn’t resent that Steve’s got Bucky back. He’s a pretty self-aware guy, has to be after years of therapy from both sides, and he’s honestly happy that Steve can have his best friend again, especially since the sheer impossibility of it makes questioning it feel a bit like questioning God.

But he can’t help that little voice in the back of his head that likes to start itself up at the worst possible moments: _why him?_

He’s used to ignoring it, though, and when he thinks about spending time with Barnes, maybe even pointing him in the right direction to some ways to deal with his boatload of issues, he’s mildly surprised to find he doesn’t mind the idea. He can picture it; him and Steve and Barnes and Natasha, all fucked-up in their own ways, but all coming together in some sort of Isle of Misfit Toys kind of friendship.

And he wants to resist the idea just out of some kind of weird principle, but Sam’s pretty sure that he could get on with Barnes given time, maybe even be friends with the guy. They’d joked around with each other a few times on the road, near enough always at Steve’s expense, and despite everything he’s been through the guy has a sarcastic sense of humour that Sam can appreciate.

Plus, Barnes - Sam should probably start thinking of him as Bucky, especially if he’s about to get defrosted - should probably get a few brownie points for not batting an eyelash when he’d found out about Steve and Sam. Sure, Steve says that Bucky knew he was queer back in the day, but knowing it in theory has to be at least a bit different to being faced with your best friend openly dating a black man, which Sam is fully aware would have been a kind of double suicide in the thirties.

He suddenly realises that he’s been silent for way too long. Steve isn’t the most perceptive guy sometimes, but he got annoyingly good at reading Sam when they were spending weeks at a time on the road, on a search that now seems like it was beyond pointless.

He reaches out for Steve’s hand and holds it tight as he thinks about the one reason that the endless night in crappy motels and their sad attempts to translate secret Russian documents when Natasha was out of touch had been more than worth it.

“I love you,” he says softly.

Steve sits up so that he can see Sam’s face. “I love you too?”

“I’m glad you’re a step closer to Bucky being okay again. He’s important to you, so he’s - you know, he is to me too.”

There. It’s out, and he doesn’t have to repeat it.

“I don’t actually want to talk about Bucky right now, though,” Steve says, which has to be a first. “Nat drove me all the way to DC because she could tell that I needed to be with you.”

And, well. What the hell is Sam supposed to say to that?

“I’m glad you came back,” which feels like an understatement.

“I want to say I’ll always come back,” Steve says slowly, and Sam doesn’t know where that sentence is going, but it doesn’t sound like anywhere good.

“No, that isn’t quite right,” Steve continues. “I mean, I will, obviously. I’ll always come back to you. But - I don’t really want to leave again, is what I meant.”

Oh. _Oh._

“You’re going to have to, though. For work, I mean,” Sam says carefully, not wanting to misinterpret what Steve’s saying. “I can’t leave DC again. I’ll come with you to Wakanda, of course, but I don’t want to go on missions again.”

He hadn’t even realised that he’s already made the decision about Wakanda. But he doesn’t regret it; he wants to be there for Steve - and Bucky, too - and it’s not like it would be a chore to go visit what sounds like the most beautiful country in the world.

“Thank you,” Steve says. “That means a lot. But I - I’m not so sure I want to go on missions anymore either?”

Sam hadn’t even been hoping for this day to come, because that would have required thinking about why exactly he might want it to.

“Then don’t,” he says. “It’s that simple, babe. I’ll support you either way, you know that.”

“Maria and Sharon are handling the running of everything. And Nat’s better in the field than me, and Coulson’s team are a bit odd but they’re really, really good. I think they can manage without me,” Steve says, and Sam can see relief rather than self-doubt in his eyes.

“Well, good,” Sam says. “Because I’m not sure I can, and I’d really prefer not to find out.”

Steve kisses him then, teasingly slow in the way he always is before he gets into a rhythm, and Sam decides that now would be an excellent time to - gently - push Steve down until he’s lying on his back on the couch, and then move on top of him to get back to the kissing.

Except Steve’s eyes are wider than usual, and his pupils only have a thin circle of blue around them, and Sam only manhandled him a very, very small amount, so this reaction seems a bit out of proportion.

“We’re not having this talk at two in the morning,” Sam says, looking down at Steve. “But we are having it sometime, okay?”

Steve blushes but nods in agreement, then pulls Sam down until he’s lying on Steve’s chest.

He hadn’t actually been lying when he’d said that he was too old to sleep anywhere but a bed, but he can already feel his eyes closing involuntarily. He decides he’ll just have to resign himself to a half hour of backache in the morning.

Hopefully the rest of the day will be interesting enough to make up for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first (finished) Sam/Steve fic! Thanks to SamSteve week, or I would have kept staring at my WIPs without ever actually writing anything. Hopefully I will get at least a couple of other prompts done this week!


End file.
